


if the strain proves too much

by helloearthlings



Series: The Heart is Hard to Translate [7]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, TAZ Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: “Oh,” Sammy draws back from the springs, taking a couple of steps in Mary’s direction. She quickly walks to meet him. “Hi, Mary.”“Mind if I join you for a dip?” Mary gestures toward the springs, continuing her pace toward them so that Sammy will follow. He does, though visibly swallowing as he nods.“I guess not,” he says, and he doesn’t meet her eye.
Relationships: Mary Jensen & Sammy Stevens
Series: The Heart is Hard to Translate [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575949
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	if the strain proves too much

**Author's Note:**

> Might see Chris Fleming tonight if the Midwest like, behaves, and doesn't blizzard us into oblivion. Anyway, not braving the outdoors today otherwise, and thus fic! Hope you guys enjoy!

Mary has been up already for an hour when she hears footsteps on the stairs.

Her ears perk up when she recognizes the tentative footfalls trying their best not to make the stairs rattle and creak, as the stairs are so apt to do. Mary had purposefully gotten up at five in the morning, taking extra care not to wake Tim as she crawled out of bed, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to catch one particularly Amnesty resident during his morning dip in the springs.

Sammy doesn’t notice Mary sitting in the corner of the living room, curled up with her Jane Austen book and early grey tea. His eyes don’t even travel in her direction. He emerges at bottom of the staircase, his face obscured by the mess of his hair. He hasn’t brushed it, nor has Ben tied it back yet. The tangles may be what keeps him from seeing Mary.

Regardless, he disappears promptly out of the back door onto the patio, cutting a sharp figure in the hazy blue morning light. 

Mary dog-ears her book and drains the rest of her tea before she follows him, slow and quiet.

“Morning, stranger.”

Sammy jumps at the noise of the door opening, and the sound of Mary’s greeting. He hasn’t made it to the springs yet, and he immediately folds back into himself, slowing to a stop just off the patio. He’s wearing a thin black t-shirt and shorts instead of his usual too big sweatshirt and jeans – Mary thinks it might be the first time she’s seen his bare legs even though it’s nearly the middle of summer.

“Oh,” Sammy draws back from the springs, taking a couple of steps in Mary’s direction. She quickly walks to meet him. “Hi, Mary.”

“Mind if I join you for a dip?” Mary gestures toward the springs, continuing her pace toward them so that Sammy will follow. He does, though visibly swallowing as he nods.

“I guess not,” he says, though he doesn’t meet her eye. 

Mary shrugs off her robe, where she’s wearing a simple blue one-piece bathing suit. Sammy doesn’t take any time to consider her body, which Mary is pleasantly surprised by. He doesn’t take his own clothes off, instead slowly lowering himself into the springs next to her, t-shirt sticking to his skin as its drenched in the warm spring water.

They sit together, a foot apart or so, in uncomfortable silence. Sammy stares steadfastly into the trees just behind Mary’s head, eyes slightly out of focus.

Mary sighs, and thinks about taking off her small silver necklace, but she thinks that might scare Sammy away entirely and defeat the point of getting up earlier than anyone ever should.

“How are you feeling?” Mary asks him, and Sammy smiles ruefully like he knew the question was coming.

“Fine,” he says, but Mary knows rehearsed answers when she sees them.

“Are you sure about that?”

Sammy shifts under Mary’s piercing gaze – Mary knows that one of her strengths is getting people to talk, and perhaps Tim is right in that she _guilts_ people into talking, but results are results.

Besides, she very much wants to know the real answer to her question. Mary used to think she knew the typical reaction of new Amnesty residents to everything Earth-related, and the difficulty of the transition. But Sammy is anything but an average Sylvan.

Mary knows that Sammy loves it on Earth, at Amnesty, and he didn’t have to learn to love it like most of them did. He gravitated toward Jack and Ben instantly and seems to bask in the warmth they provide, and of course they provide boatloads of it. They’re good boys.

Still, Mary notices what Jack and Ben can’t – the way Sammy deflates when they’re gone. 

At least Sammy looks less malnourished now. He’s still thin as a rail, but Mary has broken her No Cooking Clause many times in the past few weeks to teach Sammy how to work his way around the kitchen. He still likes smoothies, and surprisingly, salads. To Ben’s chagrin, of course. Can’t have another health nut in the lodge.

“Did Jack put you up to this?” Sammy rubs his neck, looking more at Mary’s reflection in the water than at the real her. “Or Ben? Look, they’re both very – _protective_ – but I’m really…”

Mary can’t help but laugh, light and easy, even as Sammy draws back at the sound. She reaches toward him, taking a hold of his wet shoulder. He doesn’t flinch away, which she considers progress.

“No one put me up to this, but you’re right about that protectiveness,” Mary shakes her head fondly. “I’ve lived at Amnesty longer than most anybody – well before Jack’s time – and I’ve never seen Jack care for anyone as much as he does you.”

Sammy’s eyes widen, expression at once hopeful and terrified, with the kind of gravity Mary didn’t expect from her comment. She has no idea how to respond to it, so instead she adds “Ben’s a little different – he decides he loves people, sometimes, and then never lets them go. You’re definitely high on his list, but I don’t think you’ll be overtaking his mom anytime soon.”

Sammy smiles, but in a way that looks more like he thinks Mary is pitying him rather than telling the truth. Mary lets go of his shoulder with a sigh.

“That’s why those two soft-hearted fools won’t push you,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “But I will.”

Mary pitches her voice as low and soft as she can, hoping that she sounds empathetic rather than cruel. She isn’t sure how Sammy will hear what she has to say. “Hand me your bracelet, Sammy.”

Sammy jolts backward, and Mary recognizes the progress she’s made with him vanishing all at once. His eyes go nearly stormy, and he slides across the springs almost in an attempt to leave.

Mary knows that it’s time now.

She undoes the clasp of her necklace.

The transformation is palpable to Mary, but only slightly. She can feel a quick ripple go through her body, but it’s not like the insides have to be twisted. It’s just her appearance, and it’s over and done in an instant. It leaves her shuddering, but that’s only to be expected.

Sammy sits back down in the springs, arms still folded together in knots, mouth taut and distrustful.

His attention is clearly captivated though, and his gaze doesn’t leave her face.

Mary knows that her eyes glow orange. She’s used to a fearful expression or two from the few humans who have seen her Sylvan form. She’s never seen that fear from another Sylvan, though.

“Sweetheart,” Mary says, and she has to readjust to the fangs in her mouth obscuring her speech slightly. She hasn’t taken her necklace off in a week or so, and it’s an adjustment every time. “I understand that you want to be as beautiful as Jack Wright. But you’re going to hurt yourself if you never take care of your Sylvan body, maybe beyond repair. If that body deteriorates, then so will you, and I think that’s why those claw marks on your back are still giving you hell. Am I right?”

Sammy doesn’t respond, but his shoulders tense.

He reaches up to wipe his eyes. Oh, no. Mary hadn’t wanted that.

“You have to take care of yourself, even though you don’t want to,” Mary says quietly. She hadn’t wanted or expected Sammy to cry. She wants to reach out and hold him tightly and tell him it was all going to be okay. But she knows that would just scare him off even more and he wouldn’t let her help him.

When Sammy finally speaks, his voice comes out choked and hoarse and utterly miserable. “I know. I just – I – I don’t –”

He makes a miserable noise.

“How about you dip underwater,” Mary suggests, keeping her voice measured and calm, “and let me take a look.”

Sammy shivers, even though the air and water are equally warm today. Slowly, he nods.

He keeps his bracelet on until the last possible second, lowering his body until only his dark brown eyes are visible above the water – and then, his eyes aren’t brown anymore. They’re white.

A pale hand reaches out of the water to set a small leather charm on the side of the pool. Sammy’s eyes, much harder to read now, remain trained on the charm instead of Mary.

Other than his eyes, the effect is barely noticeable. Mary can’t see much of the rest of his body anyway and isn’t quite sure what a banshee looks like – most banshees live in isolation from other Sylvans and have a bit of a bad reputation in the cities for being harbingers of pain and death.

The biggest difference is the skeletal masses that appear behind Sammy in the water, poking out just slightly. Mary wouldn’t have guessed they were even attached to him if she didn’t know better.

The wings clearly used to have feathers, but there are only one or two still hanging onto the bony limbs. The wings are as thin as Sammy is, and Mary gets the feeling that’s not how they’re supposed to look.

“I’m going to touch these now,” Mary whispers, placing a hand on the top of one of Sammy’s wings, tense under her hand. It shudders with her touch, but Sammy shifts it toward her regardless. He flinches, squeezing his eyes closed – oh, it must hurt to even move.

Mary starts to massage the wing, gentle as she can, just to get some feeling back into the limb that’s been ignored for so long. The wing shakes, but the rest of Sammy’s body remains still. His face has turned away from her now, so she can’t read his expression. She hopes she isn’t crossing too many boundaries.

She shifts to the other wing after a couple of minutes – it’s clearly difficult for the two to stretch out, instead remaining tightly coiled against Sammy’s back. They’re not healthy, and it’ll take some time, but hopefully the waters of the springs will help loosen them and remind them that they are in fact real, they exist, and they’re a part of Sammy’s body that needs him just as much as his arms or legs.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mary whispers when she touches the place where his wings meet and Sammy recoils with a pained whimper. This notch in his back, more than anything else, more than the wings or his scars, is absolutely mangled. Criss-crossed talon marks of red-hot angry pain are deeper here than anywhere else. The wings must be barely holding onto his body for dear life.

“You’re not going to be able to fly with these things,” Mary breathes out before she can help herself, though she stops her mouth from adding _ever again._

Sammy lifts his head just another to speak. His voice comes out in a teary croak. “I could barely fly before. They don’t hold me up very well. My bones are too heavy.”

Mary swallows. She knows that not even Jack has gotten any answers from Sammy about his hybridization, and expressly forbid the rest of Amnesty from being invasive the second Sammy got here.

This is a little different, though. Sammy _offered_ Mary the information. And it would be good for the poor boy to talk about his past, so maybe the people here at Amnesty could help him make a better future.

“How much of your ancestry is banshee, and how much is….” Mary trails off, letting Sammy fill in the rest. She won’t push. If he doesn’t want to answer, he doesn’t have to, and she’ll let it go completely.

Sammy clears his throat to speak.

“My father was all thunderbird,” Sammy’s voice drops several degrees in volume like he’s telling a secret, and not a good one. “I only inherited the wings, though.”

“And your mother? All banshee?”

“Yes,” Sammy whispers. “I grew up in a banshee commune. They didn’t – they didn’t like me very much. The others would….”

Sammy trails off, not finishing the sentence. Mary continues to massage Sammy’s wings, prying them apart bit by bit. She hopes he knows that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to.

“Banshee communes aren’t known for their niceties,” Mary finally says when it becomes clear Sammy isn’t going to speak again. She changes the subject, knowing that even sharing that little bit would overwhelm Sammy. “The water should help your wings feel stronger, but – well – can you feel them when you’re human?”

“No,” Sammy says after a moment, and then stumbles out like he’s ashamed, “but I know they’re there. Like – it’s like they’re dead and gone, but they’ve left a ghost behind.”

Mary lets go of Sammy’s wings, unable to stop herself from reaching up to stroke back his messy wet hair. He doesn’t face her, but he doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t try to move, doesn’t do anything but accept the affection.

Two months of Ben Arnold would probably do that to anyone. And Jack’s newfound tactile nature, too. Mary is proud of her boys, the two idiot rascals who are somehow in charge of this place – she’s glad they found somehow that they really love who so desperately needs some tender care that no one but them can provide.

Mary’s beginning to see the appeal in taking care of Sammy, too.

“We’re gonna make an appointment, you and me,” Mary curls Sammy’s hair behind his ear. “Fridays, six sharp, right here. We can take care of those wings, and I won’t tell either of those boys a thing.”

“I don’t want to keep anything from them,” Sammy says quickly, as if Mary could ever doubt. “I just – I don’t want them to _see_.”

Mary recognizes the insecurity in his voice, even though she’s never personally experienced that kind of affection for her human body. She sees it as a necessity, nothing more and nothing less. A way to survive. She doesn’t resent it like Debbie or Herschel, but it’s hardly important to her emotionally.

She understands why a human body might be beautiful to a Sylvan who never wanted to be a Sylvan in the first place, though. Mary can imagine just what the banshees thought of his body, how they might’ve mistreated him for not looking like he should.

“Sweetie, you’re lovely just the way you are,” Mary says because Sammy should hear the words, and he should hear them from another Sylvan, too. “Nobody in the world – _either_ world – looks like you.”

Sammy twists his head back to look at her, beginning to sit up out of the water, and Mary finally gets a decent look at his face.

Mary has never seen a banshee before. She had expected the pale white almost ethereal nature of Sammy’s features, but not the dripping red of the blood from the corner of his eyes.

The blood looks like tears.

“Exactly,” Sammy whispers, and reaches around Mary to pick up his charm and refasten it to his wrist. A surge of energy goes through his body and he jolts backward – and then he looks like Sammy again. Dark brown eyes and messy hair and no blood in sight. Just water. “Nobody in the world looks like me.”


End file.
